Read Online The Truth About Tara by Darlene Gardner - Free Book Online
Authors: Darlene Gardner
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beaten.
With a narrow expanse of beach just steps from the porch, the warm, salty scent of the Chesapeake Bay in his nostrils and the sound of the lapping waves filling his ears, Jack had to admit she was right. The setting would be even more perfect on a day that wasn’t overcast.
He was about to sit down on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs when he noticed two local girls in bikinis about fifteen yards away staring at him. From their gangly figures and coltish legs, he judged them to be about thirteen or fourteen. Their heads were together and their shoulders shook as though they were giggling. The thinner of the two broke away from the other girl and headed straight for him. She stopped just shy of the porch.
“Hey, mister, can I ask you something?” She was still giggling. The sun glinted off something silver and Jack realized she wore braces.
“Sure.” He figured the girls had some kind of bet going.
“Are you famous?”
Jack supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one of the girls had recognized him, although the world he lived in seemed very far away.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he asked.
She seemed surprised by the question. “Sort of. But I know you’re not a baseball player.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s baseball season right now,” she said. “You’d be playing. You wouldn’t be here.”
He nodded. Of course she didn’t know him from baseball. He’d made three appearances in the major leagues in nine years, none lasting longer than a few innings. Only the most hard-core fan would recognize his name. Even fewer would know his face.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not famous,” he said. “Who did you think I was, anyway?”
“We weren’t sure,” she said. “But we thought maybe Ryan Reynolds.”
“Ryan who?”
“Green Lantern,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She giggled again. “A movie about a comic-book character. Ryan Reynolds is a movie star.”
“Oh.” Jack didn’t see many movies.
She turned and ran back to her friend, sand kicking up under her feet. Jack sat down, aware his mood had darkened.
He wasn’t sure why. For as long as he could remember he’d dreamed of becoming a pro baseball player, not of being famous. When he’d brushed elbows with his superstar teammates during his brief stints in the majors, fame hadn’t looked attractive.
The most famous of them, a center fielder who’d won a couple of batting titles, had to switch hotels because of the autograph seekers who mobbed him in the lobby. Somebody had told Jack the player was a virtual recluse in the off-season because it was so difficult for him to go out in public.
No, it wasn’t lack of fame that nagged at Jack.
It was the reminder that baseball season was in full swing and he was here at an out-of-the-way beach community on the Eastern Shore instead of on the mound where he belonged.
“What now?” Jack asked himself sarcastically. “You’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself?”
That wasn’t his style. Neither was talking to himself.
He’d already identified the problem. He had too much time on his hands. Too bad he wasn’t one of the sun worshippers who could while away the hours on the beach. Another workout was in his future, but not until at least early evening when his muscles had recovered from his morning exercises. Swimming in the bay was tempting, but he feared his shoulder wasn’t yet up to it. He needed to curb his enthusiasm until he could meet with the fitness consultant the guy at the health club had recommended when he’d stopped by the night before.
Jack turned his attention to the newspaper, not exactly sure why he’d picked it up instead of the thicker regional paper. Reading that would have taken longer.
He skimmed a front-page story about a crabber who’d been harvesting the Chesapeake for almost fifty years, scanned a story about beach erosion and skipped a detailed account of the latest Northampton County Board of
With a narrow expanse of beach just steps from the porch, the warm, salty scent of the Chesapeake Bay in his nostrils and the sound of the lapping waves filling his ears, Jack had to admit she was right. The setting would be even more perfect on a day that wasn’t overcast.
He was about to sit down on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs when he noticed two local girls in bikinis about fifteen yards away staring at him. From their gangly figures and coltish legs, he judged them to be about thirteen or fourteen. Their heads were together and their shoulders shook as though they were giggling. The thinner of the two broke away from the other girl and headed straight for him. She stopped just shy of the porch.
“Hey, mister, can I ask you something?” She was still giggling. The sun glinted off something silver and Jack realized she wore braces.
“Sure.” He figured the girls had some kind of bet going.
“Are you famous?”
Jack supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one of the girls had recognized him, although the world he lived in seemed very far away.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he asked.
She seemed surprised by the question. “Sort of. But I know you’re not a baseball player.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s baseball season right now,” she said. “You’d be playing. You wouldn’t be here.”
He nodded. Of course she didn’t know him from baseball. He’d made three appearances in the major leagues in nine years, none lasting longer than a few innings. Only the most hard-core fan would recognize his name. Even fewer would know his face.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not famous,” he said. “Who did you think I was, anyway?”
“We weren’t sure,” she said. “But we thought maybe Ryan Reynolds.”
“Ryan who?”
“Green Lantern,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She giggled again. “A movie about a comic-book character. Ryan Reynolds is a movie star.”
“Oh.” Jack didn’t see many movies.
She turned and ran back to her friend, sand kicking up under her feet. Jack sat down, aware his mood had darkened.
He wasn’t sure why. For as long as he could remember he’d dreamed of becoming a pro baseball player, not of being famous. When he’d brushed elbows with his superstar teammates during his brief stints in the majors, fame hadn’t looked attractive.
The most famous of them, a center fielder who’d won a couple of batting titles, had to switch hotels because of the autograph seekers who mobbed him in the lobby. Somebody had told Jack the player was a virtual recluse in the off-season because it was so difficult for him to go out in public.
No, it wasn’t lack of fame that nagged at Jack.
It was the reminder that baseball season was in full swing and he was here at an out-of-the-way beach community on the Eastern Shore instead of on the mound where he belonged.
“What now?” Jack asked himself sarcastically. “You’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself?”
That wasn’t his style. Neither was talking to himself.
He’d already identified the problem. He had too much time on his hands. Too bad he wasn’t one of the sun worshippers who could while away the hours on the beach. Another workout was in his future, but not until at least early evening when his muscles had recovered from his morning exercises. Swimming in the bay was tempting, but he feared his shoulder wasn’t yet up to it. He needed to curb his enthusiasm until he could meet with the fitness consultant the guy at the health club had recommended when he’d stopped by the night before.
Jack turned his attention to the newspaper, not exactly sure why he’d picked it up instead of the thicker regional paper. Reading that would have taken longer.
He skimmed a front-page story about a crabber who’d been harvesting the Chesapeake for almost fifty years, scanned a story about beach erosion and skipped a detailed account of the latest Northampton County Board of
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